


Anemoia

by charlolwut



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Azkaban, Bad peter, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, dirty little rat, pretty dark, sirius and remus are taken to azkaban after the potters' deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 21:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15649464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlolwut/pseuds/charlolwut
Summary: He could barely recollect who the man opposite him was, aside from his name: Remus.remus, remus lupin, he'd said on their first meeting, shaking his hand in a firm grip that should have been pleasant but it was dappled in scars and clammy, nerves? andThe Dementor leaned in close and stole a long, sucking breath, and now,nothing.Azkaban AU in which both Sirius and Remus are jailed after Peter's betrayal.





	Anemoia

Floor twenty one, hall seven, cell one and cell two; prison inmates 1078SB and 1079RL. The Banquet of Azkaban. That was their name. Co-aligned, like their crime, and ferociously delicious. Dementors flocked through the hall, stopping and feeding eagerly every time, even when on a transition to a new designated floor or hall. It was impossible to deter them. Even when there would be a new criminal, a new piece of scum about to grace Azkaban with their presence, the Dementors would always, always pause and feed, if only briefly, on 1078SB and 1079RL, before slowly gliding on, their movement reminiscent of a gluttonous human with a belly fit to burst. Tales quickly spread of this unique activity and rumours began to arrange themselves in an orderly queue. There were brief suspicions of 1079RL somehow communicating to the Dementors (both were Dark Creatures after all), and plans were made to move him, until some clever sod put it together that the Dementors must just simply love the tumultuous amount of memories shared between the two prisoners, and that, to punish them justly, they should continue to be fed on almost constantly. Keeping the two prisoners together would ensure maximum discomfort and pain.

So the Banquet of Azkaban, as it was so cleverly coined, continued to reside in floor twenty one, hall seven, cell one and cell two, with its own personal nightmarish bodyguards. Only when the moon rose, swollen and full, did the prisoners get release from the encompassing torture. But one demon for another, as it goes. There was certainly nothing the Azkaban guards could do about _that_.

*

_don't look at him_

 

_don't_

 

1078SB lifted his gaze and peered from beneath greasy strings of hair.

 

_don't_

There. In the corner of the cell. It was almost pitch black, but his vision had grown used to the dark. He'd had years of practice.

 

_stop_

 

He formed words that wouldn't come. They choked him, scraped at his throat, until finally:

 

“Remus.”

 

_fool_

_you're a wretched fool_

The Dementor came then, as they tended to do, and grasped at the cell bars with its icy hands. It sniffed, then inhaled and drifted away, taking the little warmth that 1078SB had rekindled in his hands.

 

It was worth it to see the appendage in the opposite cell move slightly, rustling the undoubtable-tattered clothing. The occupant hadn't moved in hours. 1078SB had started to worry that he might have been dead, finally. That thought ought to have taken a bigger toll on him, he realised distantly, but he simply couldn't find the energy to care. He could barely recollect who the man opposite him was, aside from his name: Remus.

 

_remus, remus lupin, he'd said on their first meeting, shaking his hand in a firm grip that should have been pleasant but it was dappled in scars and clammy, nerves? and_

The Dementor leaned in close and stole a long, sucking breath, and now,

 

_nothing._

*

 

Distantly, he watched as the guards cautiously unlocked the wards, then the bars, to the cell opposite. The Dementors hovered like vultures.

 

They dragged the occupant out. 1078SB reminded himself that he knew this man, this bloodied figure, still stock on the floor, body prone and so still it seemed impossible that he wasn't dead. He knew him, he did, but he could feel nothing as the guards checked the man's pulse, nodded and beckoned a nurse over.

 

_remus_

The name rose in his head, and he choked with guilt, his stomach twisted, and then immediately afterwards: fear. He braced himself, but nothing came. He tried again.

 

_remus lupin_

_my friend_

At this, one of the Dementors turned, curious, before returning its focus back onto...onto Remus. Remus Lupin, his friend, suffering on an Azkaban floor. And now the emotions flooded, and as strong as 1078SB's dam was, it trickled past the defences and crashed and hurled waves upon his mind. He compressed his head between his hands and shut his eyes.

 

_stop it_

But Remus was making faint sounds now, wounded animal that he was, and it infiltrated 1078SB’s mind, though his name wasn't 1078SB, it was,

 

“Sirius Black.”

 

He opened his eyes. The guards were staring. Suspicious, daring. The Dementors had hovered closer, sensing an impending meal. They had gorged on snacks for far too long. It was their time for indulgences.

 

Indulgences that Sirius was not prepared to give. He had one task, just one, before assembling his defences once more.

 

“Is he alive?”

 

His voice creaked and scratched his throat raw. The Dementors etched closer in anticipation.

 

Finally: “Yes.”

 

Sirius Black closed his eyes, almost welcoming the cold that was about to envelope him. If it stole the burning guilt that resided somewhere in his chest, he would be satisfied. He doesn't want to remember wishing merciful death upon Remus Lupin.

 

In the end, he doesn't remember anything.

 

*

 

“Sirius.”

 

The voice was barely there, just a whisper carried on the air, but Sirius heard it. His senses had been blessedly clear for roughly half a day; their cloaked captors had yet to make an appearance in their isolated hall. A rare occasion, momentous really, deserving of a celebration, though he can't quite remember last celebrating anything; perhaps he'd ask James.

 

“James?” asked Sirius anxiously. “James, mate, how do you throw a good party?”

 

Silence. Then: “James is dead.”

 

Ah. Yes. Sirius remembered. He felt like he was bleeding suddenly.  Loss ached him. Anger roiled him. That rat. That _fucking little..._!

 

“I'm going to murder Wormtail,” he stated.

 

“I know.”

 

“I'm going to Cruciatus him until he's as mad as me and then slice him into pieces and feed him to the rats.”

 

He suddenly thought about who might have been listening in to his words. _Fuck it_ , he thought ruthlessly.

 

“When I'm out I'm going to eviscerate the little shit, and find Harry and Moony and blow up the goddamn government.”

 

“Sirius, I'm here.”

 

 _Harry is a baby, Harry isn't here. Moony is a werewolf, he isn't here_. But then it came to him, and he remembered his friend and the guilt that always _always_ plagued him when he forgot Moony, Remus, Lupin, Remus.

 

“I'm sorry, Remus. I forgot,” he said quietly, ashamed.

 

There's a small rustle of movement opposite his cell, and the clang of shackles connecting with the magic enforced bars. Heavy breathing followed afterward, and it was a while before any speech was delivered.

 

“It's quite alright, Padfoot. I forget too,” said Remus quietly, sounding exhausted. Sirius wondered how badly a condition he was in.

 

“How are you feeling?” he asks. Any semblance at normality to ground him. Keep him sane.

 

“Like Peter in the future. Thoroughly eviscerated.”

 

There was a pause from the hoarse voice ( _remus its remus_ ), then, as calmly as if he were reciting the weather forecast: “When do you think they'll let me die?”

 

There wasn't a kind answer to that, so Sirius didn't reply. It would have been hard to ignore such a question if he was in a steady state of mind, but as it went he wasn't, and so he retreated into his blank slate quickly, naturally, as if it had always been there. Perhaps it had. Perhaps before he just had light to fill it with.

 

* 

 

Time trickled through Sirius' mind like sand. It slipped and vanished in small windfalls however hard he tried to grasp it, until the hours turned to seconds, and days into hours, or vice versa, so that a day seemed to go on forever and never stop, no matter how hard Sirius wished with crescent-shaped groves pressed into his hands from the grip of his too-long nails.

 

There was always one immutable clock chime. With the first chime came the rustling of clothing, the folding of limbs, scrabbling to the corner of the opposite cell. With the second was the low moans that bit at Sirius' chest, constricted and suffocated it. The third, fourth and fifth brought the chill of the night, the sickly glow of skin, the full moon rising outside. The sixth rolled Remus' spine. The rest of the chimes had been counted and labelled, but they were muddled amongst the screams, the tearing of skin and bone and voice, so intense that Sirius covered his ears and eyes and rocked back into the deepest depths of his cell just to _get away_ _get away get away_.

 

The rest of the night was spent in breathless, terrified whispers of counts of sixty seconds, over and over again, to the soundtrack of a raging, caged monster.

 

Most nights he transformed. Those nights, Padfoot would whine carefully, gently _friendfriendpackfamilyfriend_ and bark desperately as the werewolf ripped itself to pieces in its struggle. It didn't work, it never did. It only seemed to spur the wolf further, tearing into its flesh with a ferocity Padfoot had never known. The captivity not only affected his physical state, but must have mentally gouged him as well.

 

Sirius understood well.

 

*

 

The guards came again. The Dementors glided darkly behind them. Sirius automatically recoiled into the corner of his cell and fought the urge to transform into Padfoot. Like last month, and the months and years before, the Dementors only deigned to sniff at him before transferring their attention to Moony. It was the worst part of the day after, Sirius thought detachedly, to have your mind jumbled as soon as it's coherent again. 1078SB and 1079RL would never be completely sane, but to completely lose it consistently after a night of agony would be unbearable.

 

A shriek bought Sirius back from his reverie and tossed him straight into panic.

 

“Remus!” he shouted, his weak voice as loud as he could manage. He edged forwards and laboured to grasp the bars. If he strained his eyes, he could see blood pooling on the floor. _Pooling_. 

 

“Remus!” he shouted again. He flinched back, his heart beating like a rabbit's, when a Dementor turned its blank face towards him inquisitively. It edged forwards, its hands groping, and Sirius only had time to think _no no nonono_ , before its attention was taken once more by Remus.

 

“Let me die, _LET ME DIE_!” He sounded mad. If Sirius closed his eyes, he could imagine fourteen year old Moony screeching the same words as he was tickled mercilessly, but as it was Sirius kept his eyes open; he saw a wild, bloodied man gripping the front of one of the guards' robes, supported on his feet by the decent material and his own hysterical strength. Remus looked frenzied, the shadow of the wolf upon his human face.

 

“Gerroff, you animal!” retorted the guard, managing to look dignified and insulted as he pressed the tip of his wand hard against Remus' skull.

 

Remus, for his part, grappled all the more, shaking and white-faced. “Kill me, _kill me_! Just leave me, I can't take it anymore, I can't do it, I _can't_ -!”

 

One Stupefy was all it took to bring the man down. A red flash and a loud bang, and Remus was slumped, unconscious, on the floor, his wounds gaping and untreated. Sirius was silent as the guards conjured a steel muzzle and chains between them. He stayed soundless through the collaring and attachment of the muzzle on Remus. He remained still as the Dementor tensed like a climax of a film, ready to devour its feast.

 

*

 

The nurse came eventually, after a painfully long time that made Sirius seriously worry that his friend really was going to die. When the nurse finally did come though, he wanted to shoo her away for Remus' sake. Sirius would be alone, but Remus would be free. That was a worthwhile sacrifice, he thought.

 

After the nurse had bandaged, cleaned and cast Ferula and other basic healing charms on Remus' gouges and broken bones, she turned to Sirius and shook her head. Sirius, in his state of mind, had no idea whether she was trying to tell him that Remus wouldn't last much longer, or that they wouldn't allow him to die. He supposed that The Daily Prophet would have a field day with such a high-profile prisoner death, and Azkaban would consequently receive a mix of comments containing quotes about morbidly enthusiastic pro-death of criminals, especially one of a werewolf, and the Greenpeace-esque and Human Rights groups who would protest a significant amount as to what Azkaban was supposedly doing to its prisoners. Perhaps she meant both, for both could surely happen eventually; the Ministry couldn't keep Remus alive in these conditions forever. Every full moon, he had barely recovered from the last moon's wounds before he was subjected to another hellish transformation in a confined, deadly space.

 

*

 

“Remus,” whispered Sirius, pressing his face against the bars. He stauchly ignored the Dementor just outside his cell and the growing cold biting his insides. “Remus,” he whispered again, “Remus, if you can hear me, just rattle the chains or move or do something. Anything.”

 

The dark shadow in the corner didn't appear to move, but there was a faint scrape of metal against floor, minute really, but it was good enough.

 

“Can you talk?”

 

Stupid question, a first year Hogwarts student could do better, stupid _stupid stupid and cold so so cold oh god don't take those stop it stopitnononono_

 

With a gasp, Sirius lurched away from the Dementor's icy hands and transformed, hands clumsily falling to the floor and coming back up as black, scruffy paws. Padfoot crawled to the corner of his cell, his tail between his shaking legs and guilt crawling in his stomach. He could escape. It wasn't much of one, it only lessened the Dementor's effect, but Remus couldn't escape no matter how hard he tried. Padfoot only existed because of Moony, Padfoot was Moony's gift. No matter how much Sirius loved Padfoot, he would have given him to Remus in a heartbeat. He would have ripped his own soul out to let Remus have comfort.

 

But he wouldn't have, he wouldn't have, because he's selfish _so selfish just like you and all of your fuckin gryffindor friends” sneered snape and sirius hexed him again and again and again and again and again and_

 

*

 

Hours later, the quietest of affirmations shook Sirius from his stupor. He couldn't quite recall what had needed Remus' approval.

 

“What was that about?” Sirius asked gruffly. A foul mood had come over him suddenly. He remembered he was prone to black moods, and tried to rein himself in. There was no need to bother Remus with his temper.

 

Only the biting chill answered. Sirius shivered and tried to rub some circulation into his arms. The clinking of chains in the cell opposite sparked something in his head, and he found himself squinting as he tried to figure it out. Chains. Chains, chains, chains.

 

He heard Remus take a shaky breath, and it clicked. The moon.

 

“Fuck, Moony, are you okay? I’m sorry, I forgot, I’m sorry,” babbled Sirius, stumbling over and grasping the bars of his cell door. He strained to see into the other cell. “Don’t push yourself, Moony. Merlin, I’m so sorry.”

 

Remus made an odd noise, as if he was underwater.

 

Sirius thought. Then, “You’ve still got that, that…muzzle on. Can’t you talk?”

 

Remus didn’t reply.

 

Silence sat between them.

 

*

 

Time passed. Immeasurable between moons, with some months stretching like years, and the silence remained. Sirius took it upon himself to fill the quiet, babbling about old Quidditch matches or describing his old motorbike parts, anything that he felt would keep his memory intact and interest Remus at the same time.

 

“I wonder if the Plumpton Pass is still a thing. Mind you, apparently old Roderick never meant to catch the snitch like that, but in a three and a half second win, there’s not much to argue against him with,” said Sirius. He sat with his chin rested on his knees, tucked in the nearest corner to where he imagined Remus currently was. “My uncle went to that match, you know, vs the Caerphilly Catapults. Never stopped talking about it. He said-!”

 

The heavy metal door in the corridor creaked open, making Sirius jump, his heart in his mouth and words promptly forgotten. He could already feel the cold, grasping hands on his skin, and he scratched violently at his arms, trying to get rid of the sensation.

 

“Remus,” he stammered, huffing heavy breaths through his clenched teeth, “Moony, stay back, stay back, don’t let them get you, they’ll take it all.”

 

“Don’t mind him, gone a bit mad that one,” said an authoritative voice, echoing along the walls.

 

Sirius heard the clinking of keys, and shook, the cold hands still writhing along his skin. He scratched harder, drawing blood.

 

“Mr Black,” said a gentle voice. 

 

“I’m not a Black,” spat Sirius, anger erupting from him like a lion, “I’m not Mr Black, I’m Sirius, I rid myself of the name of Black, the Noble House-!”

 

“Yes, yes, we get the picture,” said the authoritative voice again, cutting him off. “Sorry, Professor, he tends to babble that one.”

 

The keys clanged again, and a burst of blue light filled the room.

 

“Here we are, 1079RL. We should be okay, but be careful, some tend to keep their claws this soon after the full moon, you know?”

 

Sirius watched, his eyes stinging and skin crawling, as the tall, bearded man bent down next to the huddled form of the cell occupant. The man reached out a hand, and gently swept Remus’ fringe away from his eyes.

 

“This is abhorrent,” said the stranger, sounding like he was in pain. 

 

“It’s where he belongs, Professor. I felt bad for him at first, but you read what he did, and, well, it all becomes clear why he’s here,” replied the authoritative voice.

 

“New evidence suggests the contrary, Mr Fudge,” said the man shortly. He lay a hand on Remus’ head for a moment, before standing up, his extravagant blue robes swirling around him. “You’ve read my reports, and many others. What say you? Shall we take this to the Wizengamot, and show up the Ministry for their dreadful mistake?”

 

The voice sputtered. “Are you threatening me, Dumbledore?!”

 

Sirius’s heart stopped for a second. He knows Dumbledore. He knows him. He does. He’s sure of it.

 

“Professor?” he calls, quietly at first, and then: “Professor! Professor, it’s me, it’s Sirius! I know you!”

 

Dumbledore turned, and the blue light flashed off his half moon spectacles. He smiled sadly. “You do.”

 

Sirius grinned. He looks manic, he’s sure of it, but he knows Dumbledore, and he’s here, he’s here! _He can let us out._ Sirius opens his mouth and-

 

“I’m afraid your place is here, Sirius,” said Dumbledore, eyes sorrowful, “It’s not you we’re releasing tonight.”

 

Fudge sputtered. “I, I…we?!”

 

“When?” pressed Sirius, his hands hungrily grabbing the bars. “When can Remus and I go?”

 

Dumbledore studied him for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed. “Remus is leaving tonight. You are staying. Are you still adamant of your innocence, after all these years?”

 

Sirius nodded frantically, eyes bulging. “I’m innocent, we’re innocent, it was Peter.” He saw the blatent disbelief across Fudge’s face, and the curiosity on Dumbledore’s. “You’ve got to believe me, Professor, please. Remus will tell you! Remus was a prefect, you have to believe him, at Hogwarts he-!”

 

The icy hands returned, gripping his chest and squeezing tight. He couldn’t talk about the past, they’d take it, they’d take it, they’d take it…

 

With a gasp, Sirius lurched himself away from the bars and transformed. Scrabbling on the cold, dark tiles, doggy breathe hyperventilating.

 

“He’s an animagus?!” cried Fudge.

 

Padfoot’s blood pounded in his ears. He couldn’t think. The voices mingled together, loud and noisy and _new_ , and Padfoot couldn’t cope. He curled up into a tight ball, whining, and blocked out the world.

 

*

 

The next day he awoke to silence.

 

Remus was gone.

 

*

 

The full moon’s light shines down in a beam through the tiny window, and Padfoot whines and mourns.

 

*

 

“We’ll bring you home soon, Sirius.”

 

*

 

It’s cold, and it’s dark, and not even the Dementors keep him company anymore. He hasn’t seen another face in months. He scratches at his arms, and bites at his hind legs.

 

*

 

Padfoot noses the bars. He’s so thin, he could slink through. But he shouldn’t. He’ll come for him. He has no idea if Moony is even alive. But he knows. He’ll come. 

 

*

 

They come. It’s not who Sirius wants, but he’ll take it. It takes a while to convince Sirius that this giant, bearded man is a friend, but he is gently coaxed out. His legs tremble, stick thin and scabbed with bite marks. He collapses, and rises as Padfoot, and collapses, and stays down. The giant picks him up into his enormous arms and cradles the dog.  


“It’s alrigh’, Sirius, we’ve got yer. Yeh’re free.”  


*

  
Fresh smells hit him in waves, and his skin has never felt rougher against the softness of the sheets. He hardly dares to open his eyes, but:  


“Sirius.”  


Sirius blinks once, twice. He takes in the thin, scarred, shabby man sitting next to him, a sad smile pulling at his lips. Sirius smiles back.  


“Moony,” he croaks, and reaches out.  


Remus takes his hands and closes his own around them. “Welcome home.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I started this years and years ago, and just had an afternoon to finish it now. Sorry if the writing is a bit wonky at the beginning and the ends a bit rushed. 
> 
> My poor boys, why do I do this to you.


End file.
